


what's left behind

by smolstiel



Series: Supernatural Codas & Drabbles [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bobby Singer's Panic Room, Caretaker Dean Winchester, Episode: s06e11 Appointment in Samarra, Gen, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Post-Lucifer's Cage Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester's Soul, as one does when dealing with this sort of thing, dean has bad thoughts, hmm deans soul has its own tag but sams doesnt. fix that bois, i mean not really comfort bc sam doesnt want it, sam isnt entirely There
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:13:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22797619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolstiel/pseuds/smolstiel
Summary: PROMPT: They couldn’t even tell it was Sam.for the boyking sam discord server, once again. the fic isnt boyking related tho
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Supernatural Codas & Drabbles [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/801924
Comments: 2
Kudos: 50





	what's left behind

From the back, the huddled mass barely seemed human. There were soft moans issuing from it, pain and fear and something deeper, something that groaned and shrieked like metal. It seemed so small, and broken, and terrified. When Death had said Sam’s soul would be shredded, Dean hadn’t realized what that meant. He didn’t know there was nothing left but tattered pieces. 

“Good morning, kiddo,” he said softly. “You want some breakfast?” Sam hadn’t left the panic room in two months. Dean tried to coax him out anyway with promises of soft blankets and warm oatmeal with cinnamon and apples. 

“No, no,” his brother whined, and Dean gave a soft sigh. The man was skeletal. Even when he managed to get anything in him, half the time it came back up. He bruised easy now, too, soft like a rotten fruit. Sam’s hair was matted with sweat and plaster, and he was pretty sure there was a streak of blood on his temple. Musta been beating his head against the wall again. 

“Gotta quit hurting yourself,” Dean told him. “I know you’ve got too big a brain for your own good, but maybe keep those brain cells kicking, okay?” 

Sam whimpered softly and burrowed under his threadbare blanket. He still ignored every other blanket Dean brought down to him, no matter how soft or warm or smooth or fuzzy or expensive. 

Dean bit his lip hard enough to bleed. “I’m sorry, Sammy,” he said softly. He’d exchanged one creature for another, and neither one were his brother. Maybe the soulless bastard was right after all. Maybe he should have left the soul in Hell.


End file.
